My Mother is a Mudblood
by Bitchess
Summary: He watched her; small frame huddled deep into the leather chair, tiny bundle clutched tightly in her arms. He saw the terror amongst the tears in her eyes. She had made her decision. Now was past the time of turning back.
1. Chapter 1

_When I was at Hogwarts I never really had much appreciation for my parents. They were just there. But as I've endeavoured to lower my level on ignorance, I've started to appreciate them. My father has an absolutely wicked sense of humour. He could make my mother laugh, even when she was absolutely furious. She'd frown at him, her eyes betraying the amusement she was hiding behind the hand she'd brought to her mouth. And she has the more amazing way of-_

"Rosie?"

My brother, Hugo, was leaning casually against the doorway to my room, hands pushed deeply into the pockets of his trousers. He ran a hand through the shock of his unkempt red hair and gave me a lopsided, nervous grin.

"Time to go?" I asked, slouching back into my chair, pushing my piece of parchment across the desk.

Hugo nodded but didn't turn to leave. Instead, he perched on the edge of the bed and wrapped his arms around himself.

"Do you have any idea of what this is all about?" he asked after several minutes of contemplating the wooden floorboards.

I paused in the effort of stuffing a large pack of Droobles Best into my purse, along with a few select novels. Everything in his manner suggested he wasn't referring to the Anniversary.

"Mum said she wanted us to come, so we come," I replied carefully. I hadn't been informed any better than he had. _We'll meet you there. Wear something appropriate. Try not to be late. Love you._

Hugo released the breath he'd been holding and stretched lithe like a cat. A confusing mix of contradictions was Hugo- small and bird-like one moment, feline the next- both at once predator and prey. His nervous grin returned and he sauntered off down the hall, pausing briefly in the doorway to make sure I was following.

I stifled my own sigh and fastened the closures on my purse before making my way downstairs.

Rich green countryside blurred and marbled together in the slightly warped window glass. The sky outside was rapidly turning from a bright, clear summer blue to an angry inky black as a night squall blew in. Beside me, Hugo shivered, though from the sudden chill or his own private thoughts it was hard to guess. He fiddled with the cuffs of his robe.

I turned back to stare out the window, clasping my hands together in my lap to stop them from taping incessantly against my thigh. Almost too soon the train had begun to slow. 

"Rose! Hugo!"

I spotted my father well before I heard my mother. He had his arm draped protectively around her shoulders, looking uneasy but resigned. He ruffled a hand through his greying hair and raised his ginger eyebrows at me.

"You look lovely, Rosie," he said gruffly, enveloping me in a hug and kissing my forehead.

"You scrub up well, yourself," I replied.

My father ran a large, freckled hand nervously down the sharply tailored and minimalist front of his dress robes. He was not one for formal occasions, especially if that meant he had to dress up.

Mum pulled me down into a tight embrace, effectively burying my face into her soft, sweet-smelling mass of hair.

"Oh my sweet, clever girl," she murmured. "We've missed you."

I smiled sadly and hugged her tighter. "I miss you too."

Even though I had been living away from my parents for most of my life almost-adult, it still felt weird not to be coming home to stay with them every holiday season; still felt weird to have my own cramped share-apartment with the view over a carpark.

"You look beautiful, Mum," I told her when we pulled apart.

She smiled a thank-you, her tiny hand smoothing at imaginary creases in the heavy satin of her dress. Blue really did bring out her creamy complexion and dark hair to perfection.

As we turned toward the carriages that would take us out of Hogsmeade, I hung back, allowing my mother and Hugo to walk a little ways ahead and continue their animated conversation about schoolwork- the passion for which he had apparently taken after our father.

"You doing ok, Dad?" I asked as we strolled along. "Twenty-five years is a long time."

My father rumpled his hair. "It's not like I haven't been back. You know, with Harry."

"Yeah, I know. Uncle Harry is an awesome teacher. I came to every workshop, remember? It's just- it's kind of a big deal..."

My words trailed off, noting the odd, crumpled, almost defeated look on his face.

"Yeah," he said. "It is."

And that was all he said for a very long time.

The Great Hall of Hogwarts thronged with witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes. The air hummed with energy. Families and friends gathered in small groups, hailing each other as new arrivals made their way inside.

Hugo darted away almost as soon as we were past the front doors, begging off to go and meet with his friends and promising to be back before anything 'really important' happened.

It was a strange thing to watch my parents walk into such an event as tonight. They paused a moment in the enormous doorway; I could see my father straightening up to his full height, could almost hear my mother's steadying intake of breath. They kind of ignored each other then, or at least stopped clustering together. But I saw the hand my father placed on the small of my mother's back to guide her forward and the soft way she hooked her fingers through his when they had reached their destination. It was a constant dance of small touches and tender caresses meant to soothe and strengthen the other. It was a small thing to have noticed but it struck me as being very definitive for them. They had this kind of fiery relationship that bubbled and burst and exploded so, so often but in everything they did they were fiercely loyal and protective of the other.

I joined them at the end of the Hall where the professors' table stood covered by my extended family. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, second cousins, beloved friends all gathered together in their formal attire. It was gingers en masse, peppered with an occasional dark or silvery-blonde head- and one of electric blue.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Little Cousin. How's it feel to be out and free?"

Teddy Lupin grinned down at me and ran a calloused hand through his exceptionally bright hair. He had gained a few more wicked burn-scars, presumably from bachelor-ing it with Uncle Charlie. One would presume Dragons, but you never could tell with Charlie.

"Are you settling in ok?" This was added by a softly-spoken Victoire who was wedged in protectively under his arm.

"Well, you can open my fridge and front door simultaneously," I shrugged. "It's…snug."  
Victoire giggled and brushed a lock of silver-white hair from her face.

"It gets better," she promised. "Have you tried bewitching your room like Grandad did to the Anglia? That always worked for when we needed a little more wriggle room."

Teddy tapped the side of his nose and winked, "Word to the wise, eh?"

I grinned my thanks as he sauntered off, taking his little fiancée with him.

More and more people had poured into the Great Hall, filling it fuller than I had ever seen it. There were all sorts there now. Many of the faces I recognised; old friends, professors, faces I'd passed frequently in the halls but never known the names of, famous wizards and witches of the age. It was amazing.

"Hey, Rosie," said a muffled voice I recognised as belonging to one Albus Potter.

"Hey, Al," I replied, nodding at the space where the voice had originated from. "Nicked your dad's cloak again?"

Albus huffed. "James was just asking to be decked, so I thought it would be _prudent_ to be wherever the hell he wasn't."

I stifled a giggle. James was an absolute prat when he was bored. I could see him from here, smirking and flicking his wand.

"What exactly is he doing?" I asked, squinting.

"Gauging by people's reactions, I'd say he's conjured a little cloud that makes farting noises and is making it follow people about."

"Oh, well that's very mature of him."

"Yes, let's remember the lives of those who died by having fart jokes."

"Oh, hello. I think he's been spotted."

"Do you think that hurt?"

"I certainly hope so. Hurrah for Uncle George."

The Service itself was quite sombre. The Headmaster spoke. Uncle Harry spoke. My mother gave a short speech, which felt very odd. I knew that she'd had a part in the eventual destruction of the Dark Lord, but hearing from her lips and knowing that my mother had been younger than I was now… It really hit me. It must have been truly horrific to watch the world crumble and burn around her.

Hugo arrived at my side at some point during mum's speech.

"He doesn't look all that good," Hugo observed, nodding toward the stage.

My father had lost most of the colour in his face and sort of shrunk into himself. Beside him, my mother had pressed her lips into a thin line and had clasped her hands so firmly together that her knuckles had started to turn white. Something was definitely wrong.


	2. Tears

There are so many moments that build up to any one moment. There are so many factors that combine to make any idea, or thought, or decision. There are too many things to just simplify it down to "This is happened because of this and this and this" or "This decision was because of these seven items." It's almost impossible to discern all of those minute factors.

Hermione stood quietly, absently fiddling with the rings she wore. Around and around they went, the perfect ring of diamonds having no front or back, no start or end. Unconsciously she smoothed at the gown she wore; heavy blue satin with a nipped in waist. It was timeless and chic, very tasteful.

From where she stood she could see her son and daughter amongst the sea of sombre robes. Their ginger heads bobbed together as they spoke in what she hoped were whispers. Her daughter frowned suddenly and turned around, bright blue eyes searching the crowd that surrounded her. Hermione followed her pointed searching and felt her stomach drop. It was happening. Time had almost run out.

She forced herself to meet the cool gaze she knew her daughter had felt. The hairs on the back of her neck rose and she shivered as if ice had slid down her spine. Slowly she made the smallest of nods; an affirmative. She felt, rather than saw, her husband stiffen behind her. One of his large clumsy hands touched the small of her back with the gentleness of a feather. Once- just once- and after the brief contact, it was gone.

With gargantuan effort, Hermione forced her attention back to the speeches being made tonight. It was an incredibly important night. It was Quarter Century since the fall of the Dark Lord and the end of the War. Twenty-five years ago her heart had broken when her best friend had walked away to die; to sacrifice himself to save them all. She had barely been able to see from the tears that had streamed from her eyes. She had choked on the air in her lungs. It was almost too much to listen to them talk about it now. She shuddered, her hand involuntarily rising to the tracing across her forearm.

They had all been so _young_, barely adults, when the War had ended. The castle had been in ruins around their feet. The Ministry was in utter shambles. Their entire world had been shaken to its core. It was unstable, rotten, broken. And they were all supposed to gather the fragments of their lives and continue on, assembling them as best they could from the destruction. Was it any surprise that they had failed? 'A new life built on the beautiful model of the old', only the old had failed and betrayed them.

_The door slammed shut behind her and Hermione leant heavily against it, her whole body shaking. She wrapped her arms about herself, fingernails digging into the exposed flesh of her arms. Blood pounded in her ears but did little to subdue to shouting voices in her mind. There was no way back now, not for her, not after that._

_Shuddering, she shoved herself away from the door and up corridor, cursing her weakness as she repeatedly staggered into the wall. But, oh Merlin, it was nothing compared to _him_ right now._

"_Harry!" She shouted; her voice breaking as tears washed down her face. "_Harry!_"_

_She could feel the floorboards shaking as the wizard thundered down the stairs. He appeared, wand alight._

"_Hermione?"_

_Ginny appeared at the top of the flight of stairs, pyjama-clad, rubbing her eyes. She paused for the briefest of seconds when her brain caught up with her eyes before dashing down to her friend and gathering her in her arms._

"_I just couldn't…" Hermione choked on her own sobs. "I just- couldn't _do it _anymore. And he- He…"_

_Ginny shushed her and hugged her closer as she shook._

"_Hermione," Harry said slowly. He hadn't moved. "Where's Ron?"_

_The witch couldn't form the words but cried harder at the sound of her best friend apparating, cursing heavily. Ginny's arms remained strong around her, gently rocking her back and forth, murmuring comforting words all the while._

_After what seemed like an age, Hermione broke away. Her eyes stung and burned. Her throat was raw and throbbing. Every part of her ached and pounded. She felt completely drained. Ginny sat quietly before her, face pale beneath her freckles and her eyes red._

"_You're going to tell me what happened," she said firmly but not unkindly, getting to her feet and dragging Hermione upright. "You are going to tell me everything and you're not going to leave anything out."_

_She expertly guided Hermione into the lounge room and sat her down on a dusty sofa, flicking on lights and summoning a blanket from somewhere upstairs as she moved about. _

"_But first," Ginny gave a sad half-smile, "tea."_

_Hermione pulled the blanket tightly around her and hugged a cushion tightly to her chest, as if somehow it could ease the ache that had settled there. She thumbed the course, itchy fabric. Ginny seemed to take an inordinately long time to come back. But come back she did, with two cups of tea, some biscuits, and an unreadable expression on her face that was quickly replaced by an encouraging smile when she saw Hermione watching her._

"_Take this," she said, handing her a shot glass filled with a cloudy blue liquid. "Drink it and have your tea as a chaser. I can't vouch for the flavour."_

"_It's a calming draught," she added, seeing Hermione's raised eyebrows._

_The witch did as she was bid and they both sat back on the sofa._

"_So," Ginny started after a long silence broken by Hermione's sniffles._

_Hermione sighed, feeling marginally improved by her friend's ministrations._

"_Last night…" Ginny prompted._

"_Last night," Hermione choked and took a sip of her cooling tea. "Last night Ron came home from Auror Training."_

_Last night had been a culmination of months upon months of absolute hell. Harry and Ron had applied to become Aurors almost as soon as the smoke haze at Hogwarts had begun to clear. In under a week they had been whisked away to start what would be a month of intense training, followed by a week at home, a month in training, and then a week back at home. And each time Ron reappeared, he would be more and more withdrawn. He wrote very infrequently and what he did write was vague and a bit rubbish._

_And Hermione had waited. She rented a little flat in London, connected it to the Floo Network and started job hunting. She had written her boyfriend every week without fail. She had put a brave face on for the world and carried on. She had run herself ragged trying to keep her mind occupied and not worrying herself stupid. It was incredibly hard, but she'd managed._

_She accepted a job as a researcher for one of the few parts of the Ministry that hadn't crumbled- the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She'd thrown herself into it, disappearing from the world for several days at a time, only to return triumphant and gritty with dust. In the first month alone she had succeeded in rewriting one of the laws that governed the lives of House Elves throughout Great Britain- on top of all of the work she had been assigned to do. _

_And then Ron would return, exhausted and irritated, and expect her to drop everything for him. He would sit on her couch and make snide comments about the food she cooked for him, or the clothes that she wore, or how she was never home when he needed her. So they would quarrel. And before they'd worked anything out, he'd be gone again for another month._

_This last time, Ron and Harry had been gone for four months back to back. Not that Ronald had told her it would be that long. He had just disappeared into the night without a word. It wasn't until about five weeks after that she'd woken up to find Ginny asleep on her couch, having arrived in the middle of the night needing moral support and finding Hermione drugged with Dreamless Sleep Potion and completely out of it. She'd been absolutely furious when she found out. Ginny had had to confiscate her wand and force her to get out of house- where Hermione had done something very un-Hermione-ish and gotten herself very drunk and Ginny had held her hair while she threw up and cried. _

"_He turned up at my flat last night," Hermione whispered, her voice hoarse and raw. "He was being _insufferable_, just trying to pick a fight with me. He told me that I needed to sort out my priorities. And I just lost it." _

_Tears started rolling down her cheeks and she hugged the cushion that was still nestled firmly in her lap. "Oh Merlin! I screamed at him to get out, that it was over and that I never wanted to see him again. And when he didn't move, I hexed him. _

"_He ducked and just stood there staring at me like I'd lost my mind. Our relationship is _SO_ unbelievably fucked up and it's gotten worse ever since he went away. He wouldn't talk to me or write back or _anything_. And I was just supposed to sit there and take his crap every time he back? He sent me three letters in four _months_. _Three fucking letters! _"_

_Ginny didn't respond. She stared at her friend, her eyes huge and horrified._

"_I had no idea," she said hollowly after a long pause. "Oh, Hermione. I had no idea it was so bad."_

_Her arms wrapped around her again, sharing her warmth and heart and love as best she could with the witch who had found herself with nothing left. _


End file.
